Feel
by Akira Cat
Summary: Ever since they decided to form the Franco-Russian alliance, France and Russia have been in a secret homoromantic relationship. Even if it didn't go beyond kissing and heavy petting, the two nations always find ways of reminiscing about what it was like to feel, physically and emotionally.
1. The Secret Alliance

No one really knew what went on behind closed doors whenever France and Russia met up with each other during the Franco-Russia alliance. The alliance itself was secret to the Triple alliance and other nations after all. The most anyone had seen them together was a friendly handshake greeting, exchanged small talk and eventually entering a room; which no one else was allowed to enter unless both nations gave them permission to do so. The rooms they always entered seemed to be a bedroom.

Today, it was France who visited Russia's giant mansion. As always there was a cold air with the interior, despite the yellow walls and the neutral colour scheme of the floor tiles and carpets, with ornaments and furniture that should have made the place at least welcoming. The white snow may as well be inside as well as out. Even Russia wore his long tan coat and scarf indoors because his house was that cold.

The Russian stood at the window mesmerized at the snowflakes fluttering down towards the snowy abyss, while France in a burgundy suit over his turquoise sweater, sat in a puce armchair sipping a glass of wine, which Russia made the effort to offer. If he were less hospitable the Frenchman would have been drunk on strong vodka. The atmosphere itself was silent. Neither man spoke.

One would have thought they were discussing military strategies against the Triple Alliance. Russia bought France out of diplomatic isolation after the Franco-Prussian war while the alliance ended Russia's vulnerability. Anyone would have guessed they had plenty to talk about but it was a completely normal thing to happen between the two. There would be a prolonged silence before one of them would finally start the conversation about a topic outside warfare. On this occasion, it was France who broke the ice. "I have been curious about this for a while and I have to ask; have you ever fallen in love with anyone before?"

Russia didn't answer straight away, that was normal too and vice versa when he would ask an obscure question to France. His violet eyes fixated with the wintery scene outside. "Nyet," he finally answered. "I can't say I have."

"Not ever? Man or woman?" The Frenchman tucked a strand of his golden locks behind his ear before taking another sip of the red wine.

"I never even kissed anyone," Russia responded again. "I have never been shown any form of love even as a young child, so I do not know and understand love. Why do you ask of this strange notion?" He asked, turning his head towards the other.

France peered into the wine glass. "I would have thought that every nation would feel at least some infatuation towards someone; whether they be another like us or human." He drank the last of the wine and set his glass on the table besides the armchair he sat at. "You must have a strong will if you have never fantasized about what pleasures you."

"I never had a strong desire for such a thing," Russia stated before returning his gaze at the window. "If it's going to be a distraction then it's pointless to have it."

"So your heart is as icy as everyone says," France stood from the chair and sauntered towards the platinum blonde haired male before stopping a little away from him. "Did you choose to be alone or did everyone else decide that for you?"

Russia hesitated at the question. His childhood wasn't happy when Sweden, Denmark and the Teutonic knights kept trying to invade his land until the Mongol Tartars successfully captured Kiev, the old capital.

All he wanted was to find friends and be accepted by them but it never really happened now that he thought about it. Even a hamster he tried to befriend rejected him. The only people who liked him unconditionally were his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, but they were his siblings so they had to in a way. Other than them, no-one cared for the man. They either feared him or tried to beat him up and this sent Russia's mind into a blank state for a while until he finally answered in a monotonous voice, "No one wanted to be my friend so I know nothing of any love apart from the unconditional kind from my siblings and even Belarus is a bit possessive of me." He shuddered at the thought of her voice calling out to him, proposing marriage. France's hand sent shivers to his shoulder where he touched it.

"So do you think you forgot how to feel?" Russia glanced at the Frenchman's blue eyes. The Russian's gloved hand unconsciously reached for the hand situated on him and drew his fingers across softly. The brown leather gloves prevented him from knowing how much heat came from the back of his hand. Russia didn't know why he was doing this, touching France of all people in a sensitive way. No one else had been willing to touch him (other than Belarus and General Winter) through fear yet France, the country of love, had the courage to place his hand on Russia's shoulder. A tingling sensation unhurriedly coursed from his chest and spread throughout his body. The Russian couldn't understand what was going on. Was this excitement, anxiety, or something more? He couldn't quite put his finger on it but eventually he felt it to be a positive feeling, one he wished he'd experienced earlier. The warm, kind touch he could sense if he took off his leather gloves. It was then that Russia had to know something; something only France can answer.

"You suffered a revolution and a battle against Prussia yet you still proclaim you're the country of love. Why?"

The Frenchman gazed at the spot on the shoulder where his hand still planted itself. "I call myself the country of love because no matter what sort of hatred I go through, I always come back to love. With any person who is willing to share love with me, be it romantic or sexual, I always tailor myself to their needs, regardless of how much experience they have. If they tell me to kiss them, I would do it as passionately as they want. If they tell me to touch them, I would caress them to their liking. We would be guiding each other to our euphoria."

"But if their love isn't about sex and caressing each other's bodies then I accept that. It can be those three words everyone says to those they hold dear. Love is something that shouldn't be forced upon everyone after all."

"Please…" Russia stammered and turned to face France with a pleading expression. His fingers clenched onto the other's suit, his hands shaking. "I want to know that feeling… of someone who can be spoken to… someone who can be touched… without the fear of the other leaving them or running away. I just… want to be loved."

France knew all to well of the other nation's perception of him: a Casanova, a pervert… a rapist. That word stung him every time he heard someone talk about him in that way just because his nation was more sexually driven than anywhere else. France blamed the Marquis de Sade for everyone crowning that reputation on him. He couldn't help it if he wanted to express his gratitude to another for not losing their head during the French Revolution. Since losing Canada to England after the Seven Years War, he no longer felt the joy he once had when he had the privilege of being his guardian. Whenever he had intercourse with anyone at present, he felt like a doll whose only living quality was breathing. Apart from that, nothingness was hidden between the smiles and civil talks.

For France to hear Russia begging him to love him caused him to reach out to the other's face and cup his round, childlike face. The Russian's cheeks felt as cold as the snow falling outside and yet, his hands stayed where they were. France gazed into Russia's violet eyes with wonder. "Take off your gloves," he uttered. "You'll know the sense of 'feeling' better."

The platinum blonde haired man glanced at the brown gloves covering his hands before removing them and placing them on the windowsill. Russia returned to staring into France's sapphire orbs before his hand floated to the Frenchman's digits holding his face. They flinched at the iciness of the Russian but relaxed knowing they never meant to harm him.

Once Russia was sure France was comfortable, he connected his lips to their others in a soft kiss. The Frenchman knew he had to take the lead and immediately felt the frostiness of Russia's mouth from the moment they made contact. It was like kissing an icicle it was that cold. Both lips began to hunger for more of each other as their embraces became more fervent, their tongues now dancing inside their mouths. France's hands moved around Russia's form, gliding down his arms and secured them on his waist. The Russian untied the lilac ribbon that held France's wavy blonde locks back, letting them fall around his face and combed through his hair with his fingers. The ribbon lay forgotten on the floor but their main concern was getting some air back into their lungs, so they only pulled their faces away while their hands remained in place around their figures. The nations gazed into each other's eyes realizing what had just happened: they empathized with each other on how alone they felt. Despite the times when they had been enemies in war, they knew loneliness was something both of them had felt for too long. Russia lowered his hands from France's hair and stopped at his back then glanced to the side briefly before turning back to the man in front of him.

"During this alliance," Russia started while stroking France's cheek with the back of his fingers. "I want you to teach me how to feel happiness, sadness, emotions I have yet to reawaken."

"And the same for I," The Frenchman said immediately after, grabbing both the Russian's exposed hands. "In that brief moment, I began to feel what I have felt before I spiraled into turmoil; such wonderful feelings I've missed so much." France captured the Russian in a short kiss. "It is decided. We shall help each other in this alliance through any means necessary."

"Indeed. When anyone of the Triple Alliance makes their move, we shall be ready to counter them." Russia responded with a peck on the Frenchman's lips before both smiled at each other.

!

**This was really weird to write and note just because of the FrancexRussia pairing. I really have no clue. All I'll tell you is that this takes place sometime during the Franco-Russia alliance so sometime between 1892-1917. Again, I feel weird but I have thought about this pairing before because both France and Russia had revolutions and they lost a female figure that fans have assumed they held dear (Jeanne d'Arc for France, Anastasia for Russia) but then I think they'd just be friends... okay so they kissed in this fan fic here. A girl can dream right?**

**The characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**


	2. Blood Lovers

**Date: 17th July 1918**

Russia's eyelids slowly lifted open despite his mind still being in a daze. Yesterday felt like one messed up dream. The bloody images of the Bolsheviks shooting the whole imperial family and their servants had been imprinted in his mind even after leaving the large house near Ekaterinberg, they hid in hopes of survival. He never liked Nicholas II much but he adored the Tsarina and their children like they were his own family. If only they have been spared instead of being tainted with the same brush as the Tsar. He would never be able to see the children live to become great potential leaders unlike their father and he would never see the Tsarina's smile ever again. He would have expected to have nightmares after seeing such an atrocity had it not been for France. It was then Russia remembered whose bare, sleeping form his arms wrapped around. He felt like they had gone through a one-night stand and in a way he supposed they had. It was all so spontaneous and it couldn't have happened at a worse time.

"_Do you recognize this smell?" Russia's voice wavered, as he bore his eyes into the dark cellar where the mixed corpses of the imperial family and their servants sprawled onto the now crimson red, cobblestone floor. France could only stand behind the Russian and stare at the macabre scene with a nostalgic shock._

"_I do," He said solemnly. "It is the scent of royal blood."_

Russia couldn't bear to drink red wine that day, not after the massacre. He could only drown in what was only available at his house at the time, crystal clear vodka. He liked the drink because not only did it lend him strength but also because it had no other colour that he can associate with apart from ice. As soon as either touched one's tongue they can certainly feel something immediately, especially if they weren't used to the taste of frozen temperatures.

He felt France shift a little in his sleep provoking Russia to pull him a little closer to his body. The Frenchman's left arm floated to the other's hand and wrapped his fingers around it but he still remained in sleep. Russia breathed in the scent of roses from France's sunshine blonde hair and began recalling just how they ended up in this surreal situation of being in bed together.

!

_France's concern never vanished on their way back from near Ekaterinberg to Moscow. Just like the countryside scene, inside the car was devoid of noise. France certainly felt it would be disrespectful to speak unless Russia asked him something. He was still grieving over the innocent's deaths. The Frenchman took quick glances between him and the window revealing the green and sand grass with trees baring emerald leaves. The clouds made the sky look a light shade of grey rather than blue even though it was July._

_No words were exchanged even when they got to Russia's house. Once again he issued strictly that no one was to disturb him and France in the room of his choice, which happened have forest green walls with blue carpet and a magnolia white bed. The first thing France noticed was that there was no trace of anything red. Not even the dark brown armchairs bared that colour._

_After entering the room, Russia instructed France to sit on one of the chairs while he walked over to the chocolate coloured dresser grabbing a vodka bottle and bringing it over to the other. The Frenchman found it odd how the Russian threw formality out of the window when he didn't bring any glasses over. He must be grieving. Russia screwed the lid of the clear bottle open and took a couple of glugs before passing it over to France. "Here, Drink," He demanded monotonously. The Frenchman slowly took the bottle from Russia and hesitated for a moment before taking a sip. One sip was all he could take because it was that strong. The liquid burned in his mouth as he handed the bottle back to Russia. _

_After downing two bottles after, the Russian was in a drunken stupor. "Children these days can never play nicely. It would be more peaceful if everyone just talked amongst themselves but no. They all want to fight and kill each other. That's how it's always been in Russia. Less talking, more fighting," the man took another gulp of the alcoholic beverage before staring at France tearfully. "It hurts so much to think that my people would resort to horrible measures!" He exclaimed and pounded his chest. "Do your people do that too? I bet they don't because they're French! In France, it's all about love, and peace! Never about war!"_

_France would answer back if he had the courage. If he did, he would mention how the tennis court meeting in 1789 between the first, second and third estates ended up with the people from the third estate unleashing their revolution; which lasted a decade. He would describe the horrors he'd seen of people losing their heads even when they didn't deserve it. He'd tell Russia of how people were so hungry that they resorted to cannibalism and grinding anything that could turn into flour to make their bread. The talks failed and bloodshed was their solution, just like the Russian revolution. _

_France could only stare at the broken nation in front of him until the Russian stood from the chair. "Come with me to the bed," he imposed, waiting for the Frenchman to take his lead. France obediently stood from is seat and swayed a little having had a few more sips of strong vodka. He followed the other to the bed where they both sat down. Before France's head could settle, Russia pulled his chin to make eye contact. "You're not used to drinking vodka, are you?"_

_Even after taking some sips, France could never get used to the taste of such a strong beverage. His tipsiness was going to let his honesty come out. "I don't know how on earth you can drink so much of that. It's so strong."_

"_I can help you get used to the taste," Russia chuckled, removing his brown gloves and placed them on the bed. Then he crashed his lips into France's before he was able to say anything. His guest's eyes widened at first but the alcohol fuelled his willingness to respond to his kiss and melted, closing his eyes. Russia's fingers weaved into France's golden locks while the French hands cradled the other's cheeks. His face was as cold as ever. France's hands moved onto the buttons on the tan coat and unconsciously began unfastening them. Russia shimmied out of the garment once all the buttons had been undone before sliding his fingers under France's shirt. The Frenchman shivered at the touch on his back, breaking away for air and clung onto the Russian. "What's wrong? Did I do something to make you jump?" Russia gave the other a questioning look, wondering if he did something to cause him some distress. However, France loosened his grip and fidgeted with the end of the Russian's light tan scarf._

"_Non mon ami. You only made me want more of you," He shook his head and began to unravel it from the other's neck. Russia watched him with a subdued expression until the scarf was finally removed and gently placed it on the bed. France stared at Russia's neck somewhat mesmerized by it. He couldn't resist the urge to glide his fingers across it. Russia let out a quiet moan at this touch. "You like it there?" The Frenchman drifted his eyes to see the Russian's half open violet orbs._

"_I never knew," He exhaled. France let out a mischievous smile and giggled. _

"_Well, in that case, would you like me to continue?"_

!

Russia must have said yes to that question or both of them wouldn't have been bare chested. Everything that happened beyond that was fragmented in his mind. The vodka was part of the blame but most of it was the suppression of bad feelings. He didn't want to feel horrible during something that was making him feel good. He briefly checked underneath the covers to find that both legs still had trousers on. So it was just a heavy-petting session. Russia was glad in a way that they didn't do anything beyond that. He could never imagine himself having proper sex with France. The image was too surreal to envision. And yet there he was, his arms wound around the other's waist in a loving embrace. Anyone would have thought they did it if they walked into the room right now.

Russia leant into France's neck and dared himself to kiss near his collarbone. The reason he dared himself to do it was because he knew from experience in the Triple Entente, when England woke him up from his nap, only to receive a rant from the Frenchman and how he should not be awakened abruptly. Russia wasn't certain about his fate since France had made no movement and without seeing his face, he couldn't tell what sort of expression he was showing. He drew his lips to the other's ear and whispered, "Are you awake France?"

A moan came from the Frenchman; which Russia assumed was not a positive sign but after a minute of waiting he finally heard him say, "I am now".

"Did I disturb you?" The Russian asked.

"Non. Even when my eyes open, it takes me a long while to wake myself up fully."

"Ah."

There was a pause between the two, which they found more peaceful than awkward. France was the one to break the silence. "How are you feeling this morning?"

What could Russia say? Both nations had seen a blood bath of the extinct imperial family and had a drunken one-night stand afterwards. It took some thought before Russia could respond. "Numb. I feel like I've woken up from a surreal dream. Everything was fragmented."

"Like one of Picasso's paintings?"

"Yes, one of Picasso's paintings sums up the whole experience perfectly."

"It's incredible how artists like Picasso can document historic events through art better than any written documentation can." France uttered. Russia nodded his head in agreement.

"It is," He simply said. The Russian's hold loosened slightly as France turned to face him.

"So what happens now that the royal family has… gone?"

"…"

"Russia?"

"Lenin and the Bolsheviks will do everything in their power to restore peace in Russia," The Russian answered after his name was called. "If it means having to lose some land then so be it. I want peace and if they are prepared to do what it takes, I will gladly obey any order they make."

"Even though they killed the royal family members you mourned for?"

France felt Russia's fingertips stroke his cheek. The Frenchman looked to his face to find his childlike smile emerging on his lips. "The war will end soon France. I can sense it. I'll be looking forward to the day when peace will be restored. Aren't you excited too?"

France's stared at Russia with a blank face. How can he say such things with a smile after seeing the bloodshed of the royal family? He just couldn't work it out. Even the memories of the French Revolution were vague after being suppressed for more than a century. The only nostalgic feeling that he felt was the gratification of keeping his head through sex. France seemed to act a little from that reminiscence by pecking Russia's lips. "As the country of love, I will be counting down the days when the war ends. Until then, how long do we plan on holding onto each other like this?"

!

**Yep. I knew this was going to happen, me continuing with such a strange fan fic. In case you're wondering, France and Russia in this story seems to have a strange homo-romantic relationship; meaning that everything they do does not go beyond kissing and heavy petting but as I have very little experience with romantic terms, it may not be right. I don't know, it was something I thought about once with these two. Anyways, send in your reviews and favourite the story. I really appreciate it if you guys did. **


	3. Clearing My Mind

**Date: 14/03/1946**

"_Francis, I need you to focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?"_

Starlings flew across the peaceful blue sky over Paris. France leaned casually over the black, metal balcony fence and felt a light breeze blow some strands of his blonde hair over his face. He brushed them back in place and continued to watch the patterns the birds put on for show. The transforming shapes they formed circled around the buildings, mesmerizing him.

"_I'm going to count down from three and when I reach zero, you will be in a deep trance. With every number I count, your body will sink deeper into relaxation."_

It was a long time since he saw real birds in the sky rather than airplanes from the Second World War and half of the structures were still under repair. How on earth the Eiffel Tower managed to stay intact was something of a mystery but France was glad it wasn't destroyed.

"_You will feel loose and at ease as you go deeper into the trance. Now I will count down to zero and when I reach zero, you will be in a very deep trance. 3… 2… 1… 0…"_

"Such wonderful shapes Paris has…" He thought to himself nostalgically when a knock at the door snapped him from his daze. The nation reluctantly turned away from the bird show and made his way across the living room, past the refined Edwardian furniture before he opened the door.

"Pivet France," The friendly toned Russian accent greeted the Frenchman's ears. It was none other than Russia, standing in his trademark long, tan coat with the faint pink scarf wrapped around his neck. Upon recognizing his platinum blonde locks and violet eyes, France invited Russia inside.

"_I want you to cast your memory back at any dreams you've had since our last session. I want you to explain them in as much detail as you possibly can. I will intervene if I find you are under great distress so try to relax."_

The first thing that struck the Russian was how immaculately clean the place was, even when it was several months after the Second World War. He stroked his fingers across many polished services with his gloves and didn't find a single speck of dust. France must have been stressed out even with the war now over. "Your place is very clean," Russia turned to the other who stood on the balcony over the railing again.

"It's still not clean enough though. The blood is still there." France murmured.

"_I can hear Nazi boots march on my soil and into Paris. Their faces expressed no emotion yet they are demonic. Such evil faces plaguing the city… they blast through the doors of the homes of innocent people who have done no wrong. They drag those people out by their limbs, clothes and sometimes hair. Mon dieu a mother's been shot!"_

"_Try to stay calm Francis. Take deep breaths if you have to. Breathe through your nose and out through your mouth. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth."_

Russia remained inside and gazed at France's back until a collection of tinned food left at a table near the balcony door caught his attention. The taller nation took a few steps towards it and picked up a tin of tomato soup. The writing told Russia that it wasn't French. "I see Britain's been visiting you again." He commented, inspecting the tin.

The Frenchman turned his head and let out a chuckle. "He keeps saying he'd rather kill me himself than let starvation do that for me."

"_The scene changes to a school. The French police are leading some of the children out, Jewish no less. They were the same expression as those Nazi's but they are under mind control! They know they are leading them to impending doom but they still do it!" He places his hands over his face and sobs into them. "Those poor innocent children were simply learning… they are confused and frightened… they don't even know they are going to die… they didn't know what they did wrong… they did nothing wrong… they did nothing wrong…"_

"_Sleep deeper Francis. Go deeper, deeper, and deeper into the trance. Let those images fade away as you sink deeper. Let your mind relax. That's it. Deeper now."_

"How awfully kind of him," Russia put the tomato soup on top of the table again. "Even though he's recovering himself, he still takes the time to travel across the channel and bring gifts to you."

"Everyone is recovering from the war," France gazed at the floor, rubbing the top part of his arm before looking over the city again. "Everyone has been affected badly." France could feel a second pair of hands massaging his shoulders gently. He exhaled and let his eyelids close half way. How did Russia know how to relax him? He could feel the other's breath near his ear.

"If any good has come from this war, it's that people did everything they could to save as many lives as possible even if meant sacrificing their own." France's fingers found their way to Russia's hands. Damn. He was wearing leather gloves. The Frenchman spun to face the other with pleading eyes.

"Take those gloves off," He breathed.

"_There was one good dream I had. One that didn't involve any wars what so ever."_

"_And what dream was this?"_

Russia stared at the Frenchman for a moment before nodding his head and slipped both gloves off his hands and placed them into his pocket. France then moved his own hands onto the tan coat. "Take off your coat as well."

"_In my dream, I was walking down the street of a suburban road. It was as ordinary as any other road would be; one with trees planted on both sides of it and gorgeous white houses. I walked a bit more when I came across a junction, where a gentleman in a car was blocking of the road where I wanted to cross. I ordered him to move his car but he refused." _

The coat was off and draped over a chair. Straight away France's hands softly glided across Russia's shirt before finding their way under the scarf.

"_Then for some strange reason I decided to cross to the other side of the road, only for me to cross back again. That was when I came across another fellow but he had an air about him, something I liked very much. He had very light blonde hair and the most beautiful violet eyes I have ever seen and he wore a long sandy brown coat and pink scarf. He asked if I was all right and naturally I said yes. He then told me he needed to go to the grocery shop to buy some things and asked if I wanted to come and again, I obliged."_

Russia's breath hitched at the Frenchman's touch on his neck. At least France remembered he liked to be touched there. His hands shakily unfastened the buttons on the France's shirt and brushed his fingers on his chest. It felt warm against Russia's icy touch.

"_We walked to the grocery shop and he used his rations book to get some milk, soap and candles while I explored the shop."_

"_We came out of the shop after that beautiful man purchased those things and the next thing I knew, we were sitting in viridian grass. I have never felt so happy in my dreams in such a long time and I knew that man was the reason I was smiling. Anyway, I then decided I'd try my hand at riding a unicycle. I found it very difficult at first to keep my balance but I wasn't too bad. Then that skillful man had a go and he rode perfectly on it first time. As he rode in circles around me, I instantly fell in love with him."_

France closed the gap between their lips and closed his eyes. His hands combed through Russia's hair as he did the same to the Frenchman's blonde locks. France lowered his arms and stroked down the other's shirt, undoing the buttons. In between pants, they unknowingly strolled into France's bedroom and fell onto the magnolia bed sheets.

"_My beloved and I walked to his house, the one with the blue door." _

"_We went inside and he showed me his bedroom, which had a surprisingly thin door but we got through all right. We wanted to make love to each other there was no doubt about that but it was because of his mother and his sisters preventing us from getting into physical contact with each other. The mother herself wore black; her curly hair was black and her eyes were dark brown, almost Mediterranean. She made it so I was one end of the room and my love was on the other side with his sisters sleeping in between."_

By then, both of them had lost their shirts, shoes, socks and trousers to their desires. They lay discarded on the floor while the kissing; the touching and feeling continued burning passionately inside the men.

"_Do you know this man who you claim to love?"_

"… _Yes. I know the man. I know him in reality as well as that dream."_

"_So you know his name? What was his name?"_

"… _Ivan Braginski. My wonderful, beloved Ivan Braginski."_

France's planted kisses down Russia's chest, making him moan and coo with pleasure. He kept going further down before his eyes met with the bulge trying to free itself from Russia's underwear. It amazed and mesmerized the Frenchman, the member fighting against the restraint of the fabric. It reminded him of the war so much yet what he was seeing compared to what he saw was beautiful, not horrifying. So he placed a kiss on the bulge, causing Russia to gasp.

"_When you wake up, you will feel refreshed and wide awake. Your mind will be clear and composed and you will feel calm. You will feel relieved and happy knowing that you will be able to move on from your previous anguish."_

"_Now I'm going to count up to three and when I say three and snap my fingers, you will return to the room, refreshed, wide awake and relieved. You will be able to relax because you will no longer have the stress and nightmares, which has plagued you for so long. You will be able to get on with the rest of the day with a positive mind. Now I'm going to count up to three. 1… 2… 3… You are now back in the room fully awake Francis."_

France pulled Russia's pants down and sucked on his throbbing length. His ears rang with glee hearing Russia moan and calling France's human name.

"Francis!" He loved the tone of the Russian's voice crying out. It turned France on even more when he did that. He sucked faster and harder just to go through the cycle of pleasuring Russia while he pleasured him back by just his voice. "Francis I can't hold it any longer!" The Russian yelled in his native tongue. Fortunately, the Frenchman understood exactly what he said being fluent in the language himself.

"Then come mon amour!" He managed to get out before sucking and prepared himself for the joyful evidence spurting at Russia's last cry. France lapped it all up when it came.

"_You seem to be making a lot of progress Francis. I'm pleased that you're moving on with the events that happened and I hope you continue to do so. In the mean time, keep taking the sleeping medicine to prevent you having any nightmares and maintain a healthy eating habit. And keep reminding yourself of what I've told you in your previous sessions. I'll see you in three weeks at the same time."_

After the vigorous activity, France and Russia snuggled into each other's arms underneath the bed sheets. On occasions they'd summon some energy to kiss each other but they didn't mind the long gaps when their lips didn't touch because their arms did enough of touching in the form of hugging. Russia already fell asleep after some time but France had enough energy to plant one last kiss on the other's forehead before whispering, "Je t'aime Ivan".

!

**What the…? I don't even know what I wrote. I actually wrote the fourth chapter before this one, which is a first for me, but at least I can get two chapters for this story up instead of one. The dream France describes is also based off a dream I had once but with obvious changes to some elements.**

**Christmas, uni work and other things going on with my life had kept me really busy and it's going to keep doing that so leave me your reviews and favourites. They're very much appreciated! **


	4. How to Seduce a Frenchman

**Date: 22/01/1986**

France kept reminding himself of the task the French counterintelligence organization had given to him; find any information to do with the KGB's activities in influencing public opinion in his country on Russia.

It seemed that lately the newspapers and every other form of media was promoting communism and the Soviet Union in a positive light, while America was portrayed as the distrustful villain. Since his people were being influenced, he too had some positive opinion on the Soviet Union's communistic values one moment, only to correct his true outlook in front of the French politicians and other nations. He even fantasized about being the submissive subordinate in a sexual role-play between the imaginary, dominant Russia and himself.

He felt a little hot under the collar just thinking about the confrontation with the large nation as he followed the quivering Lithuania down the corridor. France could tell from his demeanor that Russia's cruelty had struck many a nation and others who happened to face his wrath. Lithuania didn't dare turn to the Frenchman even as they reached the office both of them would have christened the lion's den. The green uniformed nation tapped the door twice and waited for a few seconds before he heard Russia's voice summoning them both in. France didn't see Lithuania's face beyond his shoulder length brown hair. Nor could he see Russia.

"Mr France has come to speak with you," Lithuania did his best not to stammer.

"Bring him in and leave us alone," The Russian's voice spoke ever so sweetly, giving his subordinate the cue to dash out of the room after letting France in. Natural light coming from the window seemed to be the only thing enabling the Frenchman to see the intimidating nation in his grey uniform, gazing out of the window at the wintry city. France took a few steps closer to him on the red carpet when Russia spoke. "So what brings you to my office? It must be important if you've traveled all this way just to see me."

The Frenchman stopped at the direct question. He couldn't simply give the mission he was given away to Russia of all people. He had to word it in a way that would bypass his hawkeyed wall. "You seem to be making a name for yourself in my country. A lot of people in my country seem to be interested in communistic values."

"Have they now?" Russia let out a brief smile before turning to France. "I hear you and Britain are planning to make Napoleon's dream of connecting your countries together come true."

"Oui," France nodded. "This time I think the Chunnel might become a reality. It will be a struggle but I believe it's possible with the ingenuity and the determination of the engineers on both sides of the Chunnel."

"I do wonder though; is it really what you and Britain want?" Russia fired quickly. "Everyone knows your history together has been, lets say, like a married couple. You fight all the time in front of everyone else and yet, you two are willing to support each other if one of you needs help from a third party. Although, that's been more recent than in the past but everyone has noticed you two are making the effort to reconcile each other."

France gulped a little. He and Britain have been trying to repair a relationship that's been broken from the moment they set eyes on each other. First it was the Entente Cordiale, then it was supporting each other in the World Wars and now both governments have announced proposals for the Channel Tunnel finally coming to life. It was as if people were forcing them to sleep in a king size bed together after so many years of being allowed to sleep in their own single beds. The Frenchman didn't hate Britain as much as he did in the past but there were still unresolved tensions. "It's not like we're in love or anything. It's strictly business only."

"I see," The Russian gazed at the white scene once more. France knew Britain didn't always trust the tall nation and forming the Triple Entente was strictly for warfare. When Russia wasn't in their presence, the Englishman would make comments to France about him having ulterior motives. Plus given the choice, Britain would rather choose America as an ally than anyone else, even though the American was nothing but an annoying thorn on everyone's side, a bug that needed to be squashed. All kinds of fanciful bloody images rose into Russia's mind at the mention of that name, making his curl a smile. It was then that he asked France the next question. "Be honest with me France; how much do you trust me?" This left the Frenchman feeling flustered. He was supposed to get information on the Russian espionage activities in his country and yet, he had no control over this discussion. How was he supposed to respond? Answer the question or change the subject? Again, Russia took control. "I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it; how much do you trust me?"

It took France a few deep breaths before he could reply. "Why would you ask me that?" It was then Russia loomed over the other, staring down at him with intimidation.

"Surely you haven't forgotten the promise you made after the Battle of Leipzig? I wanted to talk to you after your defeat. Or was your insanity still there before you suppressed your memories?" France's sapphire eyes were wide. That was Russia's confirmation that France didn't wipe out all the memories of his madness.

!

19/10/1813

"_Kesesesese! Who's laughing now oh great one? You seriously thought you could take everyone on? What a loser!" Prussia crossed his arms and laughed, looking down at the defeated France with his mocking red eyes. He groaned as he lied on the damp ground and had enough energy to look up at the silver haired man with hatred. It didn't help that Britain with his smug grin and red uniform stepped next to Prussia, filled with the same confidence._

"_That's what happens to people who get too big for their boots, frog!" He said venomously._

"_Well?" Prussia nudged the side of France's cheek with his boot, leaving a muddy smudge there. "Don't you have any last words? Words inspired by your so called great leader?" France's fingers curled, desperately trying to push his heavy body to stand but to no avail. Both Prussia and Britain cackled maniacally. "You really are pathetic!" Prussia jeered._

"_If you know what's best for you, you'd go home and stay there like a good nation! We wouldn't want anymore trouble from you from now on." Britain sneered before turning to the Prussian. "I think it's time we should take our leave and leave this frog to wallow in his misery."_

"_You two can go home. I want to have a word with France quickly," A new soft voice emerged from the maliciousness of Prussia and Britain. The Frenchman strained his neck to see the platinum blonde haired man in the dark grey uniform with golden shoulder tassels on both sides. Just the sheer size of him caused a shiver down France's spine. Maybe he was going to finish him off in the beating. Prussia and Britain stared at the Russian for a while before turning away._

"_Whatever. Do what you want with him," Prussia waved a hand before he walked away with Britain following in tow. When Russian confirmed both presences were gone, he knelt on one knee in front of the beaten nation and made eye contact with his violet orbs._

"_I want you to listen to me very carefully; your leader has upset a lot of people. He's going around thinking he can conquer everyone, not even thinking about the consequences. You on the other hand have had a mentally unstable mind for a long time. The French Revolution was the cause of the loss of your sanity and the Napoleonic wars have escalated it to something worse." Russia raised a child-like smile; which sent sickness to France's stomach. _

"_I don't know when Napoleon will finally give up but I will admit one thing: I am very impressed with the strength you've carried despite being in an unfit state to fight. You even defeated the mighty Prussia and invaded Moscow one time but in the end, it was the unification of our hatred towards Napoleon's egotistic personality; which has lead to your defeat. So I am willing to make a deal with you and once that deal's been made, you cannot go back on it." Russia leaned closer unnerving France a little. "One day I will make an alliance with you. If you agree, whenever I ask how much you trust me, you must answer with the utmost honesty whether you have faith in me or not." He pulled away so he could extend a gloved hand at the Frenchman. "So do we have a deal?"_

!

CRUNCH!

France snapped out of his trance like state and turned his gaze at Russia's hand in the other's burgundy jacket where the recording machine laid. It took seconds to piece together why that hand was in his pocket. The tall nation withdrew his hand away from France and gaze at him with little emotion. "Now you can answer me without other ears listening in." He said, unplugging the earphone from the other's ear and leaned into it to whisper. "I will repeat the question one last time and you will answer it whether you want to or not. Do you trust me?"

"I do!" France answered straight away, latching onto Russia's uniform in desperation. "I want to trust you so much but so many conflicting messages about who I should and should not trust plagues my mind every day! One side says you are good and just, while the other says the opposite! My dreams are the only things that make me sure on who I should side with!" Russia stared at the Frenchman. His expression didn't change as he took the other's hands off his uniform, placed them at their respective sides and turned towards a chair sitting in front of the wooden desk. He lifted the chair and placed it in the middle of the room before facing France.

"Sit down," He ordered. France obediently walked to the chair and lowered himself in it. His fingers curled around his knees as Russia circled behind him. "Close your eyes and tell me about these dreams you have." France's eyelids slid down and relaxed within a breath.

"In these dreams, I am the submissive subordinate while you are the powerful and dominant master sitting on a queen sized bed covered in red rose petals. Zee walls and floor surround us in red. You whisper so softly in my ear that I am to obey everything that you say because serving you and ensuring your happiness is my one and only purpose. You say I am most satisfied when I fulfill the needs of my mast-ah ah!" France shuddered at Russia's tongue licking the sensitive part of his neck.

"Keep going," The Russian murmured, pulling the other's head and brushing France's blonde hair to one side to get better access. The Frenchman sighed happily at the tingling sensations Russia was sending him.

"The first thing you ask me to do is to strip for you. You tell me to do it slowly because it builds up the suspense. With every item of clothing I take off, I feel excited about you ravishing me," France's voice grew breathless with every sentence he said as his arms fell to his sides and gripped onto the seat of the chair. He could feel Russia's hands massaging his chest. "Once I've shed everything, you tell me to climb on top of your bare body and then you tell me to insert myself inside you. I do just that and you order me to move." The Frenchman hummed with approval as Russia's hands glided down his torso and onto his waist. They began stroking his thighs. France gasped at the touch and opened his legs wider for his admission. "I thrust myself however you wanted. Faster and harder you say." France's frenziedly panted like his member throbbed, desperate to be caressed. "You scream my name and I scream out yours! Russia! Russia! Oh glorious Russia! I want you to touch me so much but I cannot rebel and ask such a request because I am the lowly servant and you are the master!" The feeling of Russia's hand vanished from his legs. France waited for the inevitable touch he had been begging for but instead he heard another one of Russia's instructions but it seemed too hazy to be in a dream.

"Open your eyes France."

The Frenchman did what he was told and stared at the beaming Russian in front of him with confusion. Did Russia want him to see him stroking his pleading arousal? That would be just as nice if not better. Then he could see just how happy he was making Russia and waiting was one of the exciting parts of reaching his sexual euphoria so he didn't mind. However, the platinum blonde haired male just chuckled. France was in so much confusion. Was he making fun out of him? Did he not feel the same way after all the years of comfort they gave to each other? Russia dropped to one knee and grinned.

"You have such a fanciful imagination. No wonder you're called the nation of love." He could see France's mind was breaking just by looking at his anxious eyes. He needed his loyalty for a while and so he placed a hand on the other's cheek and stroked his thumb on his skin.

"Don't worry about the tape recorder. We can fabricate something for your people to listen to and it'll be like I never broke it in the first place." A promise was one thing but Russia needed to seal it like an unbroken vow, so the best he could do was brush a strand of France's wavy hair behind his ear and plant a soft kiss on his forehead before gazing into his eyes lovingly.

"I will get you a taxi to a hotel and you can finish yourself off there. In the meantime, I'll let you borrow one of my coats to cover yourself up with until you get there."

!

France found himself surrounded with the red walls and carpet once more but this time he was on a single bed. However, he never considered himself to be alone because he imagined Russia pumping him with perfect synchronized strokes. The movements were exactly how he predicted his invented partner would give. The shaking grew more vigorous. "Ivan! Oh mon dieu je t'aime Ivan!" He shouted. France loved him because he was the only other nation who could bear the same pain on the revolution levels. Both of them knew how it felt to be reviled by every other jealous nation who wanted to ruin their parades; Britain and America.

"_When you have these sensations, you will only think of how much you love the Soviet Union and our superior beliefs, da?"_

"Of course I love you!" France cried. He embraced the Soviet Union, the communist ideals and everything to do with Russia. Communism was spreading the message of equality and fairness across the land. America was forcing everyone to do as he says and he calls it a democracy. Democracy? It was more like a dictatorship and after the Second World War, there didn't need to be another one. Russia told him America couldn't be trusted. The American would fail to keep any promises he proclaims. If it were America who didn't fulfill France's sexual desires, he'd laugh at how pathetic he was and make him walk out with the embarrassing bulge in his trousers instead of apologizing. At least Russia apologized for not giving him what he craved with a simple kiss on the forehead, a fabricated audiotape and a coat to hide his throbbing member until he got to his hotel room.

France didn't know how long he masturbated to the Russian illusion but once his voice instructed him to unleash a climatic scream, he finally came.


	5. Ballet For Grown Men

**Date: 12****th**** December 2012**

Many young girls in white tutus circled the three main dancers; Siegfried wearing a puffy, pine green shirt and white tights pleaded to Odette in a more elaborate white tutu, for forgiveness, only for Von Rothbart cloaked in black robes, to come between them and reminded Seigfried of his vow to Odile.

France and Russia watched intently on the ballet performance, as Odette explains through her movements she would rather die than be under Rothbart's spell forever and living the rest of her life as a swan since she loved Seigfried so much. Had anyone sitting near both nations know they were associated with each other, most would wonder why two fully grown men had come to the theatre to watch Swan Lake while others would just enjoy the performance. As soon as the music and the final scene reached its climax, both nations and the audience gave the bowing dancers a round of applause. They deserved it after expressing a story with so much beauty, something both Russia and France appreciated.

They discussed everything about the performance from the dancing to the costumes and music after exiting the theatre. They almost forgot about the biting winter as they took the path into the park, strolling past the bare trees while their feet made crunching sounds on the snow. Every so often Russia glanced at France making sure he wasn't suffering too badly in the cold weather; the Frenchman suffered as much when he tried to invade him on Napoleon's command. His concern raised when he could only hear his own footsteps and turned around to find his companion had stopped walking, staring across a frozen pond. "Are you all right?" Russia asked as he approached him. France snapped out of his trance like state and nodded in response.

"Oui. I couldn't help but find this place ever so beautiful. Is it all right if we watch it for a while?" The Frenchman turned to the Russian who gave his a questioning look but nodded afterwards.

"As long as you're not too cold," he said before finding a wooden bench and brushed the snow off it, allowing both men to sit down with some comfort. There was a long moment of silence between the two but it wasn't as if neither minded. They liked to soak in what they considered to be an aesthetically pleasing object or scene in front of them. Neither cared if no one else felt the same way so long as they were able to take something from it, whether it be a feeling or a piece of knowledge they learned. The ballet they watched and the frozen pond in front of them were no different. France finally broke the silence but still kept his eyes fixated forward.

"It's serene and peaceful here," he murmured. "It's like a little place where everything else is moving around it and yet, this place stays still."

"Not many people walk through the park in the middle of December at night France," Russia glanced at the Frenchman. "It too cold for them."

"And yet when they do, they get to experience this golden silence," France continued. "If people stopped moving like this place in front of us, they may learn something from it." Russia sighed knowing how true that was.

"I remember the time before I learned to stop and appreciate everything around me in detail. Sure we were perfectly happy with what we had and what we knew but thanks to Catherine the Great and her constant compliments to Voltaire, I never would have met you and you would have never had taught me how to stop and stare." Russia gazed at the pond while France let out a smile.

"Oh yes. That was during the age of enlightenment that I came here for the first time."

"And that was the first time when nothing but you kept lingering in my mind and it wouldn't be long before I fell in love with you," Russia uttered, not turning to look at the surprised Frenchman.

!

**Date: 22****nd**** November, 1815**

_Russia stared at the blank piece of paper on his desk with despondent eyes. He didn't know why especially since Napoleon's conquest to capture the whole of Europe failed. Then he realized it wasn't one of the greatest generals who had ever lived he was worried about; it was the personification of France. He had changed so much since the French Revolution. He didn't write a single letter from 1789 to 1799 so it must have greatly affected his mentality because when Napoleon Bonaparte rose to power, he felt like he could fly. Russia reminded himself of the legend of Icarus: the son who ignored the warnings about flying too close to the sun from his craftsman father. Once at the sun, the wax acting as glue for his wings melted, leaving the boy to plummet to his death in the ocean. Such was failed ambition then and now. Russia picked up his feathered quill pen from the inkstand and dipped it into the ink pot before writing on the piece of paper that begged him to write his thoughts down._

_After dipping and scrawling on the paper, Russia placed the quill on the table and scanned his eyes across the page._

'_To Francis Bonnefoy_

_By the time you receive this letter, your mind would have returned to its sound state or at least that's what I hope. When I said those things to you about how strong you were in your madness, I really did mean it. I was amazed to see you had some strength left when Napoleon's vision of having Europe in the palm of his hand crushed to pieces._

_There was one thing you did that disappointed me Francis and it was this; during the age of enlightenment you taught me how to appreciate beauty by stopping and looking around me, taking in every detail my eyes could see, my ears could hear and letting my senses take over rather than letting my mind run like cogs. By slowing everything down, I have learned to learn new things and saw objects and scenery in a new light. But since the French Revolution and following Napoleon's orders, you've lost that ability you shared with me and instead you see things through a tunnel and charging through it. You didn't see the ambitions of many men collide, you didn't hear the men who fought for and against you take their last breath as they fell to the ground, you didn't smell the blood that had seeped from the bodies of men who have died for others and their beliefs. You just saw it as one big blur, letting your madness cloud your judgment and mentality. I am not angry with you about that, however, it did make me feel sad. The one man who had showed me how to see even the smallest details so I know more than the average person had turned into an ignorant being, denying everything else apart from what they think. That was why I was disappointed in you and that was why I decided to fight you, so that I could make you use your senses again._

_Although saying that, madness does change people. When everything starts crumbling around them, they feel desperate and cling onto anything they can in order to stay sane. Tell me what did you cling onto as you drowned in your own insanity? You must have held onto something in order to have that remarkable strength all the way to the end. Maybe one day I'll be in your position and then I'll have to hold onto something, something so important to me. When that day comes, I'll tell you exactly what I would cling to in order to survive such a great ordeal._

_Until then, I hope your health improves and maybe one day I will come and visit you. I will announce it in my next letter._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Ivan Braginski_

_It was moments later that Russia saw the human names he unconsciously wrote for the both of them. Why did he do that of all things? He wouldn't normally address a nation by their human names because he felt it was more personal that way. Nations were never like humans in the first place so they wouldn't use human names under any circumstances unless they had a personal and informal relationship with each other. He frowned at the letter before pulling a drawer out from his desk and finding an envelope to put the letter inside. After sealing it he twirled it in his hand, debating on when he would deliver the message to France, not Francis Bonnefoy._

!

"I clung onto your resilient strength," Russia softly said, fidgeting with his fingers. France still stared at him in surprise. "I couldn't rely on anything or anyone else during that… time. I was breaking apart." He bit back a gulp. "Then I remembered how you felt as bad as I did. The fear, anger, sorrow, confusion spiraling inside your body all at once, it's not a nice feeling. I admit, my mind wasn't exactly sound after the revolution and sometimes I don't even remember what I did or how many people I've hurt and killed." He paused while his fingers still fretted between themselves and took a deep breath. France blinked for a moment before smiling sadly at the pond again.

"Now I know why we went to see Swan Lake. We empathize with Odette and Sigfried because they could not share their love in a conventional sense." He looked down on his feet and kicked a bit of snow away. "We know what it's like to have failed ambitions, dreams crushed and hopes shattered. People wanted change while others didn't and so they fought with burning passions." Russia's gloved hand stopped moving and glanced at the Frenchman and realized he was right. Napoleon wanted to take over Europe and the world, people in Russia were fed up of the corruption of czarist rule and Odette wanted to free herself from a curse and be with Sigfried forever. It all ended in bloodshed and death but it also gave birth to some form of optimism as though people thought they had learned their lesson after killing the evil one and can move to a better future.

!

**Date: 31st December 1991**

"_Don't leave me… Don't leave me alone again… Is it because I'm so weak? Please don't leave me!" Russia fell onto the floor on his knees and sobbed into his hands, repeating the mantra over and over again in his bedroom when no one was around. The big house he lived in was completely empty and devoid of the countries that were finally free from the U.S.S.R._

!

For a while Russia's thoughts had been blank. He didn't think of anything in particular until France's voice broke through that silence. "Suppose… Suppose we could go back to those times when we were able to… feel each other…" The Frenchman's voice trailed off before gazing at his companion. "Would you want to go back to the way things were?"

!

"_I'm sorry Francis but we shouldn't this anymore…" Russia whimpered, pushing the other away. France took a few steps back before regaining his balance._

"_But Ivan, we can still make it work. We can still be lovers in secret if you-"_

"_No!" The Russian snapped which made France wince before he simmered his temper. "I am weak now and no one wants to be with anyone who's going to hold them back. Until I am strong again, I must learn how to stand on my own two feet like you had to all those years ago." He strained his voice as tears visibly rolled down his cheeks. He regretfully displayed his tearstained expression to an anxious France before mumbling, "I'm sorry."_

!

"No," Russia answered simply.

"No?" France cocked his head to the side with a perplexed expression. "I don't understand." Russia faced the icy pond.

"What I mean by that is we don't have to kiss or touch each other for the sake of it. We don't have to say 'I love you' just to affirm the other that's how we feel. Tonight's performance and this conversation has reminded me of this lesson; enjoying the company of someone you like is more than enough to express love to them. The touching, the kissing and the sex are just urges." Russia turned to the still confused France. "If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be enjoying your company and I wouldn't have wanted to go to that ballet performance with you. Whether the same goes for you is your choice but for me, I'm happy enough when I'm with you and that's all that matters. You don't need to do anything else to make me happy because I like being with you France."

The Frenchman sat there speechless. People and nations throughout history desired so much and yet, Russia was happy with the simplest of things like being with people. His simplistic needs were one of the many things France liked about Russia. He twiddled his thumbs and glanced at the other on occasional seconds but before he could speak, Russia's lips embraced his mouth. The Frenchman was surprised at first for this action however; he melted into the kiss and closed his eyes. It felt wonderful like the times before when they expressed their love for each other through feeling: feeling and knowing they still loved each other no matter what. Had it not been for the cold weather and the fact that they were in the park, France would have wanted to make love with him there and then but as the country of love he knew forcing it on Russia would be the opposite of what he had learned from his companion and that would be wrong. Still, he was content enough to carry on with the kisses for a few moments longer before both nations reluctantly pulled away. They only realized their hands clutched each other's coat sleeves as they loosened and withdrew. The only thing the men couldn't bear to disconnect was their gaze into their eyes of sapphire and violet. They had longed for each other there was no doubt about that and so they continued to stare until Russia blinked and stood up from the bench. "Come. Lets get you back to your hotel, da? It's too cold to be out here now."

It took France seconds to process the sentence before raising a small smile and rising to his feet. "Of course," he said, delving his hands in his coat pocket and strolled alongside the Russian. Even when snowflakes floated from above, they didn't take much notice of them. A minute later, France turned to Russia. "So do swans come here in the summer?"

"Yes, quite a few. Why do you ask?" The Russian spun his head to the Frenchman who let out a quiet chuckle.

"I want to see them at this park here when the weather gets warmer. When that time comes, will you come with me to see them?" Russia stared at the other at this odd request but raised a smile thinking it was a nice thought.

"Yeah. We should. Just the two of us," he said in a content tone. He could already imagine France and himself enjoying that quality time watching the serene swans gliding across the pond in it's warm, welcoming form.

**FIN.**

!

… **I don't know what to think of this story. I really don't. This has to be one of the strangest things I have ever written. At the end of it all, failed ambition (and maybe just picking up the pieces from where they left off before the tragedy happened) was the eventual theme of this fic.**

**I mean think about it, the French Revolution of 1789 gave birth to the Declaration of the Rights of Man but it also bought royalty back in charge of the country. So had the bloodshed been worth it? Napoleon had come so close to ruling Europe and possibly the world but it all ended in disaster for him. The Russian Revolution was to try out the communism; based on the ideals of Karl Marx. Instead of bringing freedom and equality like they wanted, Russia was devastated by civil war and famine and became a one party dictatorship. The U.S.S.R. after many years of having control over 15 different countries, finally dissolved in 1991. And finally in Swan Lake, Sigfried was tricked into pledging his love for Odile who he thought was Odette making her curse to be a swan full-time permanent. The only way they could have stayed together as lovers in their original forms was dying after destroying Rothbart.**

**This story was unusual in terms of me eventually finding out where it was headed and I'm glad it led itself in that direction. I want to thank everyone who has managed to finish reading this and keep your reviews, comments and favourites coming in.**


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